TRANSCRIBED FROM THE NEWPORT DAILY INDEPENDENT NOVEMBER 20, 1918 P. 2
Dear Homefolks:
I know you have been anxious to hear from me, for I have waited unusually long to write this month. I had a little rest and vacation and went to Ireland Setember 20th, and returned in eight days, having to go on duty before my time was out on account of three hundred soldier patients with influenza, and believe me for thirty-six hours without sleep or eating, every nurse and physician and enlisted man served their country as never before. We certainly answered our country's call, for never had we met anything equal to the "flu." We were more like maniacs than anything else and for three weeks it was like a horrible nightmare to us. My brain has been taxed until I can't think, and I wonder when I get home if I ever will want to nurse any more. This is one time in my life I am doing a little fretting, for so much of this disease is fatal, that it gets next to me. One poor boy from the states told me his name was John Smith. I have the "flu" ward and I have seen my share of silent white faces. One boy from Jackson county died here, and there is a negro from there here too. These boys are the finest that ever lived and their mothers should certainly be proud of them.
You said you would send me a sweater, but don't worry about that for the army and Red Cross give us sweaters and woolen underwear, even to wool hose. We have everything we need.
I have several boys in my ward that helped to bread the Hindenburg line. They are a fine set of boys. One among them was on his way back to the states when he took the "flu" and--it's a long way back to mother's knee and he will never reach it, but if ever I see her I will tell her what a fine boy she had.
I started this letter the 25th of October and here it is the 10th of November, so I will finish it and send it off. There is a complete change now. My patients with the "flu" are better and my boys that helped break the Hindenburg line came in and are celebrating and telling me how they are anticipating peace. We are all terribly excited and maybe we will eat Christmas dinner with you. I can't collect my thoughts and my room is full. We are congratulating each other and our burdens are already getting lighter at the thoughts of home and we are going over our trials and tribulations, while the boys in the army hospital are laughing and then crying and saying, "I told you so, it had to come."
Just six months ago we were royally entertained by New York society and we were told to slip down to breakfast early the next morning in pairs and to catch cars arranged for us to a certain pier. We were all excitement, our teeth began to chatter and our knees to knock, for we wondered if we would ever see home or native land again. From France to Arkansas seems like a long ways. The pendulum of time is swinging backward, and old Liberty Bell is not only trying to ring again, but is ringing its freedom, and to us over here the whole universe is turning backward to the starting point--even to the submarine which I will tell you about sometime. But we received the word this morning that it's all over, and we are trying to picture "you Americans" cutting up over there. It's all too good to be true, but we are packing up our kit bag and "smile, smile, smile."
Just think brother, when we start home on the ship we can leave the "port holes open" and have lights. Doesn't it all sound funny? We are all excitement and we feel now that we can all stand some more "flu."
Your sister,
Irene Austin,
Liverpool, England.
American Army Hospital.
NOTES: Austin was writing to her brother Mr. C. G. Austin and his wife of Newport, Arkansas. She was a graduate of St. Vincent ‘s Infirmary and had accompanied an Arkansas unit under the direction of Dr. Snodgrass. She was serving as nurse with the Red Cross.
TRANSCRIBED BY LAEL HARROD
Dear Homefolks:
I know you have been anxious to hear from me, for I have waited unusually long to write this month. I had a little rest and vacation and went to Ireland Setember 20th, and returned in eight days, having to go on duty before my time was out on account of three hundred soldier patients with influenza, and believe me for thirty-six hours without sleep or eating, every nurse and physician and enlisted man served their country as never before. We certainly answered our country's call, for never had we met anything equal to the "flu." We were more like maniacs than anything else and for three weeks it was like a horrible nightmare to us. My brain has been taxed until I can't think, and I wonder when I get home if I ever will want to nurse any more. This is one time in my life I am doing a little fretting, for so much of this disease is fatal, that it gets next to me. One poor boy from the states told me his name was John Smith. I have the "flu" ward and I have seen my share of silent white faces. One boy from Jackson county died here, and there is a negro from there here too. These boys are the finest that ever lived and their mothers should certainly be proud of them.
You said you would send me a sweater, but don't worry about that for the army and Red Cross give us sweaters and woolen underwear, even to wool hose. We have everything we need.
I have several boys in my ward that helped to bread the Hindenburg line. They are a fine set of boys. One among them was on his way back to the states when he took the "flu" and--it's a long way back to mother's knee and he will never reach it, but if ever I see her I will tell her what a fine boy she had.
I started this letter the 25th of October and here it is the 10th of November, so I will finish it and send it off. There is a complete change now. My patients with the "flu" are better and my boys that helped break the Hindenburg line came in and are celebrating and telling me how they are anticipating peace. We are all terribly excited and maybe we will eat Christmas dinner with you. I can't collect my thoughts and my room is full. We are congratulating each other and our burdens are already getting lighter at the thoughts of home and we are going over our trials and tribulations, while the boys in the army hospital are laughing and then crying and saying, "I told you so, it had to come."
Just six months ago we were royally entertained by New York society and we were told to slip down to breakfast early the next morning in pairs and to catch cars arranged for us to a certain pier. We were all excitement, our teeth began to chatter and our knees to knock, for we wondered if we would ever see home or native land again. From France to Arkansas seems like a long ways. The pendulum of time is swinging backward, and old Liberty Bell is not only trying to ring again, but is ringing its freedom, and to us over here the whole universe is turning backward to the starting point--even to the submarine which I will tell you about sometime. But we received the word this morning that it's all over, and we are trying to picture "you Americans" cutting up over there. It's all too good to be true, but we are packing up our kit bag and "smile, smile, smile."
Just think brother, when we start home on the ship we can leave the "port holes open" and have lights. Doesn't it all sound funny? We are all excitement and we feel now that we can all stand some more "flu."
Your sister,
Irene Austin,
Liverpool, England.
American Army Hospital.
NOTES: Austin was writing to her brother Mr. C. G. Austin and his wife of Newport, Arkansas. She was a graduate of St. Vincent ‘s Infirmary and had accompanied an Arkansas unit under the direction of Dr. Snodgrass. She was serving as nurse with the Red Cross.
TRANSCRIBED BY LAEL HARROD